Conversation Piece

Harry

Harry sighed, steeling himself, as he prepared to walk into Madam Puddifoot's. It had been months – if not a year, at least – since he'd been to Hogsmeade, but Hermione had seen fit to summon him here since "we have a lot to discuss, Harry".

It didn't take long to find his friend inside, ensconced in a booth at the corner of the shop, two mugs already set in front of her.

"I got you a latte," Hermione said in way of greeting him, "couldn't remember how you take your coffee, but that seemed a safe enough choice."

"Cheers," Harry answered, sliding into the booth opposite her.

"So," Hermione began, pulling out a thick, ringed notebook from beside her, "there's actually quite a few things I wanted to cover today. Would you mind giving us some privacy?"

Harry muttered "muffliato" under his breath, not bothering to draw his wand for the charm.

"Ta," Hermione answered, flipping her notebook open, "so, first off: Lord Greengrass is up to something."

Hmm, not what I expected.

"Yeah? What kind of 'something' are we talking, the kind that the Aurors should know about?"

"Sadly, no," Hermione turned her notebook to a specific page, passing it across the table to Harry. He smiled as he saw painstakingly recorded minutes of Wizengamot sessions in Hermione's writing, the smile fading as he realized that she expected him to read them.

"Hmm," Harry grumbled, sipping his latte – he usually took his coffee black, but he wasn't going to complain – furrowing his brow as he tried to pull apart the positively byzantine layers of political double-speak and various motions, points of order, and the like.

"You're going to have to help me out here," Harry freely admitted, prompting a familiar snort from Hermione, "I'm not seeing what he's up to."

"The oft-vaunted House Greengrass 'neutrality'," Hermione explained, "is really just 'Traditional Pureblood views', except marginally less racist than the traditionalist faction. Which is why it's very interesting to me that Lord Greengrass is making missives towards marriage reform, here," she pointed at one line of her minutes, "here, and here."

"And we're assuming that he hasn't had a change of heart, yeah?" Harry drawled sarcastically.

"I don't think I have to dignify that with a response, Harry," Hermione frowned in thought (and if she was confused or unsure, then Harry knew he had no hope at puzzling it out), "there's some way that he stands to benefit from this, but given our recent… disagreements with him, I'm worried that it's meant to target you in some fashion."

"How would marriage reform target me?" Harry was only growing more confused.

"Harry." Hermione looked at him with an expression that said "you thick-headed man" so that she didn't have to actually speak it out loud. "Once again, it amazes me that you can apparently forget that you're the head of two Noble Houses. What if he slips in a provision stripping you of those, ugh, rights that you apparently have?"

"Well, uh," Harry shrugged, "I never exactly planned to have two wives, anyways, so I don't think I'd be exactly missing it?"

"Harry, don't be a git," Ah, expressions alone aren't sufficient enough, "I'm not talking about the polygamy side of things, I'm talking about your freedom as a Lord. Instead of being able to run around with whoever you want and figure out your marriage later, what if he ties Lordship to producing heirs? Or obligates you to marry someone of equal status?"

"Oh, I, uh," fucking Purebloods, "I hadn't thought of that. Can he do that? I thought that compulsory marriages were all sorts of illegal now."

"Oh, Harry. Thank Merlin that you let me help you with this," Hermione sighed, "it wouldn't be a compulsory marriage, if he's going this route, the act would no doubt be written in a way that you'd be 'free to choose' whether you wanted to give up your political power, or remain unmarried. Entirely legal, entirely unethical."

"Well, that's shite."

"Rather, yes."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, sighing. Maybe he should have thought ahead before threatening Cyrus, but – now that he was trying to be more honest with himself about his feelings for Daphne – once the Lord Greengrass had disparaged his own daughter like that, Harry would have done the exact same thing if he had a second chance.

"What if I just kill him in a duel, yeah?" Harry joked.

"You know I don't condone violence as the only solution," Hermione, thankfully, cracked a smile in response, "but honestly… no, don't kill the man, but if he gives you cause to duel him, absolutely take him down a bloody peg."

"That bad, hey?" If Hermione was recommending dueling as a solution, old Cyrus must have been particularly insufferable of late.

"Well," Hermione frowned, "I assumed you'd know, given, well, Daphne."

Ah, right.

"She's mentioned a bit of it, yeah."

"Which, I guess, is where I'm going to segue into the other thing I wanted to talk to you about," Hermione fidgeted a bit, "look, I want you to be happy, so you know I support you no matter what… but Pansy Parkinson?"

"Heh," Harry, in turn, scratched the back of his head, "yeah, I know. It surprised me a bit too, I guess."

"Well, it's not that surprising," Hermione grumbled, "she has been practically flashing her breasts at you at every gala for the past couple of years."

"Y'know, you're not even the first person who's pointed that out," Harry remembered Robards's previous observations, "I honestly didn't have an idea before, well, it kind of just happened."

"Hmph," Hermione frowned, "keeping secrets isn't your style, Harry. I'm surprised, is all. I didn't think you'd act so quickly after Luna mentioned that whole 'two wives' thing to you."

"Well, er," Harry paused, trying to figure out what he even wanted to say, "it's not really a secret per se, it's kind of… not a relationship? Yet?"

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Harry actually felt nervous in front of Hermione's gaze, "it's, well, a thing. We haven't really figured it out yet."

"Hmm," Hermione tapped her fingers against the table, "and Daphne? What's going on there?"

"Well, it's all the same thing. We're all, uh, involved, but it's… well, 'undefined' is probably too specific a term, really."

"That's fascinating," the choice of phrase would have been sarcastic from anyone but Hermione Granger, "who started it? Did they approach you? Or is Daphne the intermediary since you and Pansy were so complicated with each other? Does this have anything to do with the investigation you were working?"

"Merlin, Hermione," Harry protested, "I didn't take you for one to be so curious about my social life."

"Honestly, Harry," she leaned back, crossing her arms, an expectant expression on her face, "I know that you've had some difficulties in dating, but yes, I'm absolutely curious as to how it is that you wound up dating not only someone who tried to have you killed, but the famed 'Ice Queen' at the same time."

"Like I said, it just kind of happened," Harry recalled the night of Draco and Ginny's wedding, smiling at the memory, "it wasn't planned out by any of us, but, well, it's working. That's the surprising part to me, as well."

"So," Hermione clearly wasn't content with his explanation, but she seemed to be giving him a bit of respite from the near-interrogation, "what's the end goal, then?"

"Fuck, I have no idea," Harry sighed, "the three of us talked about it a bit, but, well, none of us know. All three of us are pretty screwed up, really."

Harry hushed Hermione's indignant protests of how he wasn't "screwed up" before they could begin.

"It's not what I would have expected either, but… I think that we might be moving towards a relationship. Of some sort." He frowned, wishing that he actually knew what was going on. It would be a lot easier to explain, that's for sure. "What exact kind of definition or status that involves, I've no bloody idea, 'mione."

"Tsk," Hermione frowned, before chuckling and leaning forwards almost conspiratorially to Harry, "I do understand that much, Harry. I'm not as sheltered as you think, I actually get the whole 'uncertain friends with benefits' situation."

"Hmm," Harry answered, "things not going well with Viktor, then?"

"Harry!" Hermione blushed, "how did you…? Oh, bloody hell, of course you figured it out. No, things are going great," the smile that broke across her face was an answer enough for Harry.

"I'm happy to hear," Harry answered, "and happier still that you're not going to get mad at me for breaking 'the rules of dating', or something."

"Oh, hush," Hermione chuckled along with his teasing, "you know how to handle yourself, Harry. If dating Parkinson and Daphne is what works for you, I'm not going to tell you to stop. Besides, if I did try and tell you to reconsider, you'd only throw yourself into the deep end even further."

"That's true," Harry smiled. It was easier than he'd thought to tell Hermione about this.

"Just, be careful, okay?" Hermione's tone became serious again, "I'm not saying anything about anything, but if something goes wrong in the Wizengamot, they need to know what they're signing up for. You need to consider whether you can count on them if you have to. I'm not going to try and manage your dating life, but I am going to keep your best interests in mind."

Yeah. Harry thought. I figure that I can count on them.

"Hmm," Harry was struck by an idle thought, "who would you pick, if you were going to manage my love life?"

"Harry!" Hermione protested his teasing, "it's hardly appropriate for me to sit here and discuss the various possibilities I've thought of about people we know!"

"Hah," Harry smirked, relaxing, "so you do like to gossip, after all! I'm dying to know, now."

"Well, there's a few ways of looking at it, really," Hermione fussed in her purse, pulling out a notebook – of course she has notes on this, "ever since Luna mentioned it, I've thought of a few different ideas, whether they be for political benefit, who I think you'd like, or who I would like to see you date." Hermione shrugged defiantly. "It's not gossiping, it's merely preparation in case you actually asked for my advice."

"Brilliant," Harry smirked, "so?"

"Well, politically, that would require you to actually buy in to some of the Pureblood nonsense for the most gain… Sue's the best choice, especially if you ceded House Black to her."

"Isn't Sue, well, gay?" Harry asked, genuinely curious. He'd never asked Sue directly about her preferred partners, he supposed, but it seemed to be common-enough knowledge that she was a lesbian.

"This scenario is purely political, yeah?" Hermione reminded him, "then again, I'm not actually sure about that. She's made comments about you before that didn't seem entirely uninterested."

Harry briefly considered that idea, before tamping it down with a no, inappropriate, Harry thought.

"Anyways, if you were just chasing political power, you'd probably want to take a second wife from across the aisle, as it were. Flora Carrow isn't the worst, really."

Harry vaguely recalled the former Slytherin woman: she didn't particularly stand out in his memory in any way, but Pansy had mentioned her name a couple times, and apparently her and her twin sister had been instrumental in reducing the harm that their Death Eater aunt and uncle had done to the students of Hogwarts. Still, even hypothetically, this woman he didn't know didn't pique his interest in the slightest, although something about her name sounded nice...

"I am kind-of-sort-of dating two Slytherins, you know," he joked.

"Yes, but not ones in good standing with the traditionalists… hmm, in fact, they'd actually be two of the better choices for absolutely infuriating that particular bloc," Hermione tapped a finger in thought against the side of her face, "I'd never tell you to marry for power, anyways, but if you decided you wanted to force the Ministry to change, I had to plan for it, just in case."

"Fair," Harry admitted, smirking. Hermione's fastidious nature and depth of understanding never failed to entertain him, as long as it was a topic he could actually understand. "What about the other categories?"

"Well, you're the judge of who you'd be happy with, obviously," Hermione pursed her lips, flipping around in her notebook – does she have notes on my social life? Classic Hermione. "It wasn't one of the times you were doing the best overall, really, but you seemed to have a good time when you were seeing Katie, and George has certainly alluded to that often enough." Ah, yeah, Katie is great, Harry agreed – there'd never really been any potential romantic component to their brief time together, but he still recalled the memories fondly.

"Then I'd probably say Luna for your other… partner, in that scenario," Hermione nodded, as if to answer one an unspoken question of her own, "even if I don't really understand Luna, she's a fantastic woman, and she's always had a way of getting you out of your sulks."

"I prefer to think of it as 'brooding'," Harry joked, thinking about how Luna had seemed to become somewhat flirtatious as of late – but he wouldn't dare to think that he could really judge her behaviour accurately. Still… that possibility was something he'd have to address, given that he we was due to attend Luna's going away party in a couple of days, and he hardly thought it was appropriate for him to be out flirting with other women while Pansy, Daphne, and himself were figuring things out.

"Well, whatever you think of it as, it's annoying," Hermione fired back, grumbling when Harry stuck his tongue out at her in a childish display of rebellion. "You might be surprised, but if I were picking your partners for you, well, I think Daphne would probably be who I'd recommend."

"You're just as bad as Ron and Astoria," Harry teased, while also feeling a surge of… validation?

"Does Ron know?" Hermione changed the topic, "about your 'kind-of-relationship'?"

"Ah," Harry grimaced, "no. It's not a secret, but it's not exactly something we've wanted to broadcast, yeah?"

"Well, he'll undoubtedly be thrilled that Daphne is involved with you," Hermione smirked, "and crushed that Parkinson is."

"You'd think he'd be past the whole 'Slytherin snakes!' thing, what with marrying one and all," Harry shrugged, "or having one as his brother-in-law."

"Not everyone forgives as easily as you do, Harry," Hermione shrugged in response, "you know how stubborn Ron can be."

"Right, yeah. Who's your other choice?"

"Pardon?"

"If you were arranging marriages for me," Harry teased, Hermione rolling her eyes in exasperation.

"Honestly, if she ever moved back here, Padma."

Huh. Not the first time Hermione's tried to arrange that. Then again, she never knew how successful her first attempt was, Harry recalled.

"Oh?"

"She's a good friend of mine," Hermione explained, "she's smart, she's very kind, but she's not a pushover either. Given the shape that you tend to find yourself in," Hermione pointedly glanced at Harry's shoulder, "it might be good for you to have a healer in your life on an intimate basis."

"Hermione Granger!" Harry gasped in mock horror, "was that a dirty joke?"

Padma definitely did help me, Harry thought even as he teased his friend, but that was another "explicitly temporary because someone's moving away" scenario. And I still shouldn't be thinking like that, he chastised himself internally.

"Well, and what about you?" Hermione asked. Seeing Harry's confusion, she continued, "what is it about Daphne and… Parkinson that you like?"

A lot, really.

"Uh, well," Harry tried to filter out various explicit comments that he could have made – he didn't want to give Hermione a heart attack, after all, "like I'm sure you've seen, Daphne's really, really smart, she's actually helped me out with some of the Pureblood bullshite that you mentioned. She's more down to earth than I would've expected, though, she's good at staying calm when I'm not."

"I agree," Hermione grimaced, "what about Parkinson? I'm presuming she has some redeeming features, and don't you dare say that it's her breasts, Harry."

There goes that joke.

"Well, as it turns out, Pansy does," Harry smirked, thinking of Pansy's own sense of humour, "she's clever too, and she's driven, the shop she's running is actually quite impressive from what I've heard. I'm not going to say that Pansy is exactly the nicest person I've ever met, but I think she does regret the way she acted during school. Honestly, though, I kind of like that she challenges me."

She has absolutely terrible puns, Harry thought, just like I do.

"Heh," Hermione shook her head, "now that sounds like you. I'm not exactly going to be her best friend or anything, but when you bring her around some time, I'll do my best to be civil, you know."

"Thanks, 'mione," Harry smiled, feeling an odd sense of relief as his coffee with Hermione wound to an end.

Days later, at Luna's going away party, Harry's sense of vague, fuzzy happiness hadn't faded away at all: even though Pansy was out of the country and Daphne was all wrapped up with an art project she'd been commissioned for, he still spoke to the two fairly regularly through their enchanted notebooks, and he felt a growing sense of optimism about the whole thing for the first time in, well, a long time.

Luna's party was very… Luna, the private room she'd rented out at the Leaky Cauldron festooned with a positive smorgasbord of decorations, including tinsel (Christmas isn't for a few months yet, Lu), enchanted party streamers, and a disco ball. The gathering had been small, but included most of Harry's closest friends, with the only notable exceptions being the women-of-uncertain-definition in his life.

"It'sh about LEGACY," Draco slurred, half-perched on the edge of a bench, practically face-to-face with an equally drunk Ron.

"PISS OFF!" Ron yelled in response, "You're, you're all a bunch of half-brained gits, you don't know what it TAKESH!"

"What's this one about?" Harry leaned over to Astoria.

"I think," Astoria shook her head in exasperation as Ron and Draco had now begun to chant at each other, "this one is about the Cannons versus the Falcons last season."

"Aren't they both bottom of the league, yeah?"

"They are," Astoria sighed, sipping her glass of water, "but you know how those two get."

Sure enough, within moments the two men had their arms slung around each others' shoulders, now chanting a third Quidditch anthem which seemed to be targeted at Puddlemere United, instead. Harry grinned, once more struck with how utterly absurd this sight would have been only a few short years ago.

It was times like this that Harry actually felt like they'd won the Second Wizarding War, when former enemies were singing Quidditch anthems together, the absurdities of the former house rivalries of Hogwarts finally put aside.

In typical Harry fashion, he couldn't help but distract himself with a thought of a somewhat darker nature: "Legacy", hey? He distracted himself with his glass of firewhiskey, a temporary respite from an idle concern that had been bothering him ever since Pansy had pointed it out.

Though he'd done his level best to ignore it ever since he'd first learned of the situation, the fact was that his nearly-instinctive use of Sectumsempra was an indication that the… legacy that Snape had left Harry with was apparently not anywhere near as inactive as Harry had hoped.

That's something to worry myself with some time far in the future, Harry decided, finishing his drink.

By the time the party was drawing to a close, Harry had found himself drunker than he'd expected, but not so much that he was incoherent. Hell, he thought, even Hermione was drunk by the time she left. He chuckled to himself, he supposed that it was due to his higher-than-usual tolerance that he was one of the last people remaining.

The other, of course, being Luna herself.

Harry didn't realize this until Seamus and Parvati made their departure while he was already engaged in a conversation with Luna, and as soon as this happened, he felt a treasonous blush rising in his ears, recalling Luna's somewhat friendly behaviour of late.

"Ah, it's late, I should get going," Harry clambered to his feet, as Luna rose to meet him.

"Oh, yes," Luna agreed, "it is rather late, and I do have a portkey to take tomorrow morning. Still, this has been a lovely night, thank you for being here, Harry."

She leaned in towards him, and his mind raced, but Luna stopped well short of pressing her face into his, instead peering interestedly at some point above his head.

"They're almost gone, you know," Luna observed.

"They?" Harry quirked an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Oh, your wrackspurts, that is," Luna shrugged, her gaze meeting Harry's. Fuck, she does have beautiful eyes, Harry realized nervously, as Luna's hands came to rest gently on his chest. "I am quite happy to see it, Harry! You had me worried for the longest time, but it seems like you have found someone to help you out with them."

"Uh, yeah, I…" Harry trailed off, not sure how to explain that he couldn't kiss Luna, despite her clearly standing close to him, waiting for something.

"That's nice." She smiled widely, and then leaned in to kiss him – on the cheek.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "it is."

He returned Luna's nearly-crushing hug, before separating from her and retrieving his coat from the side of the door.

"Have a good trip, Lu," Harry turned to bid goodbye to his friend, who was about to take one of her "field studies" of entirely indefinite duration, this time pursuing some sort of Wuggy Mumble-something in Sweden.

"Oh, I will!" Luna cheerfully announced, "And Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I'd like to talk to your girlfriend," She continued, as Harry started to sputter in surprise, looking at him with her head cocked to the side in curiosity, "oh, sorry, is it girlfriends? Anyways, now that you don't have wrackspurts any more, I think I'd quite like to have sex with you when I next return."

What?

"Goodnight, Harry!" Luna was just as cheerful and blasé as ever as she skipped past him to her room upstairs at the Leaky Cauldron, leaving Harry in a drunk, confused – no, bewildered – and, to be honest with himself, intrigued state.

Oh, brilliant, he thought, things were going way too easy, weren't they?

Daphne

Daphne inspected the letter, printed neatly on actual card stock, and marked with the seal of House Bones. She was half-treating this as a joke of some kind, because she was unsure of exactly what it could mean otherwise:

Hi Daphne,

I know that we don't know each other very well, but I'm hoping to change that.

I'm very interested in commissioning you for a particular sort of art piece, one which I'd like to have displayed by December.

If this sounds like something that you'd be interested in, please let me know a time that would work for you to discuss what I have in mind!

Regards,

Lady Susan Bones

The tone of the letter was half-formal, half-casual, and it was throwing Daphne off-balance in terms of her expectations. It was well understood that she didn't want to get involved in politics, which surely even Susan knew, but at the same time the signature spoke of something more official than "acquaintances talking about art".

Curious.

She thought about sending a message to Harry to ask if he had any ideas as to what this was about, but then decided against it: surely she didn't need to carefully measure every social scenario she found herself in, and – to be honest with herself – she felt more confident in being able to socialize without coming off as the "Ice Queen" ever since she'd taken up with Pansy and Harry.

Daphne figured that it wouldn't cost her anything to at least find out what Susan Bones was interested in, so she began to write her reply, suggesting a couple of evenings later in the week as potential times for the two witches to meet.

The Bones Estate wasn't objectively the most impressive house that Daphne had ever seen, certainly Malfoy Manor loomed over it (to say nothing of the massive 12 Grimmauld Place where Harry lived), but there was a sense of ominousness about it, the construction all wrought iron and black granite. The Bones house had definitely thrown in with the side of the Light during recent Wizarding wars (and suffered grievously for it), but if Daphne had to guess, this had probably not always been the case.

Lady Bones herself was also somewhat of a contradiction: Daphne knew of her well enough, a frequent guest at many of the same events that Daphne had attended, but she'd never really made the effort to get to know the young noble beyond a surface level. Her cheerful and upbeat demeanour was surprising in light of the aforementioned hardships she'd suffered, but also nearly incongruous in light of her reputation.

While Daphne didn't know the truth of it, Susan Bones had begun to cultivate something like notoriety as a fierce, tough, and intimidating Lady of her House: in the years following her assumption of this status, she'd dueled no less than four other Lords in challenges arising from her actions at the Wizengamot, handily winning each and every match.

I wonder when Harry will get to duel some old Pureblood fool, she thought, maybe it'll be my father.

"Daphne," The Lady Bones welcomed, "hello! How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks," Daphne replied, only somewhat confused, "you?"

"Well, I'd say never better, but that's not entirely true," Susan answered, ambiguously, "come, let's have a seat in the lounge!"

Daphne's curiosity was definitely piqued. She was hoping that this meeting would lead to an opportunity for her art, of course, but the more she pondered on different aspects of their respective social stations, the more she wondered if Susan might actually become a friend of hers – something that Daphne had already figured out she was in short supply of.

Much like herself, Susan seemed to reside in the strange middle ground between Pureblood traditions and the modern Wizarding world, though Susan seemed to deal with that a bit more deftly than Daphne had managed to. Other than Harry, Susan was one of the few people their age who chose to wear glasses (when magical remedies were commonplace), and similarly to Daphne, Susan had wound up the centre of a minor controversy when it came to light that she enjoyed the company of other witches.

Of course, where Daphne had thoroughly destroyed her own reputation and wound up disinherited for her trouble (not that she regretted her choices – but she could admit she handled the challenges somewhat dramatically), Susan had basically stared down the traditions of their culture and made the traditions flinch and look away.

Kind of impressive, really, Daphne thought.

"Fancy a drink?" Susan asked, as Daphne found a seat in her lounge, "tea? Coffee? Wine, or firewhisky?"

"A tea is good for now, thanks," Daphne answered, and Susan hmmed and disappeared somewhere to retrieve this. When she returned, the redhead had a potent glass of firewhisky for herself, and a mug of earl grey for Daphne.

"Right!" Susan seemed to be excited, "might as well get to it, eh? My first question for you, before anything else, is whether you'd like to stick it to your dad?"

Huh.

"Well," Daphne sipped her tea, cautious – sure, she'd love to bring her father down a notch or two, but this was potentially-dangerous talk given Susan's predilection for shows of force, "in theory, absolutely. It depends on what you mean."

"You know the Winter Solstice Gala, yeah?" Susan continued, as Daphne nodded in response, "well, it turns out that it's my turn to host it this year, right here at the Bones estate. I figure it's a prime opportunity to show off what the modern magical world is like."

"Hmm," Daphne was definitely intrigued, "I'm interested, but what did you have in mind?"

Susan's grin stopped just short of "predatory", as she leaned back in her chair across from Daphne.

"You saw the main foyer when you came in, it's a little, well, naked right now. What I'm thinking is that, if you're interested, I'd like to commission you to make something very modern to display in that space."

So that the first thing her guests from various Noble Houses would see would be my art, Daphne pondered, but how would that "stick it" to my father?

"What did you have in mind?" Daphne asked.

Susan quirked an eyebrow and looked over the bridge of her glasses at Daphne, a smirk appearing on her face.

"Well, basically, what I had in mind was a sculpture that's basically as gay as bloody well possible without being pornographic," Susan calmly sipped her drink, "remind them that I'm not going to be backed down, yeah? And with your name attached to it…"

Daphne felt a smirk of her own form on her lips: displaying a piece of transgressive art focused on lesbian themes would cause waves in the Muggle world, let alone the stodgy and prejudiced world of noble purebloods. Making it clear that she was responsible would directly "insult" her father by association, a ruthless strategy to take advantage of her skills and family name alike.

"Why, that's positively Slytherin of you," Daphne joked.

"Heh," Susan shrugged, "know your enemy and all that, yeah?"

Now that she was spending more time with the witch, Daphne could almost pick out some ways in which she resembled Harry, both of them utterly fearless in standing up for what they saw as right (though Harry could use more than a small dose of Susan's confidence).

"Well I'm certainly interested," Daphne decided, "but I'm curious, what made you think of me to join your plan?"

"As I said," Susan drained her drink, "I don't know you as well as I'd like, so I'll admit that was one motivation for me, but actually, it was Harry who had mentioned how you and your father were still at odds with each other. I'd caught him after Ron and Astoria's announcement, and he seemed quite perturbed about that whole thing."

That's an understatement, Daphne thought.

"So, I figured, two birds one stone, right?" Susan grinned cheerfully, "fancy that drink yet?"

"A glass of wine would be lovely," Daphne decided, "white, if you have it."

Returning after a minute with a drink for each of them, Susan flopped back into her seat across from Daphne.

"To be honest," Susan spoke, "another reason why I reached out to you is that women like us need to stick together, yeah?"

Women like us, Daphne pondered. The only notable connection she could think of was the public awareness that each of them were women who slept with women, but this led to a realization that she felt she had to correct.

"Oh, uh," Daphne took a sip of her wine – a crisp, dry variety – before continuing, "I'm not actually a lesbian, y'know? I sleep with men too, that is."

"Heh," Susan smirked, a bit of rosiness beginning to appear on her cheeks after her first glass of firewhisky, "not my first choice, but I don't blame you for that or anything. Even for me there's been a bloke or two that I'd be willing to give a shot."

Daphne – despite herself – felt her Slytherin instincts whirl into action: is this a means of trying to get closer to Harry through me somehow? Wait, no, that doesn't make sense, him and Susan are already good friends. Is she hitting on me? No, that's ridiculous.

"What about your guest of honour, then?" Daphne probed, "if you wanted to commit to the 'shock the crusty old purebloods into the twentieth century from somewhere in the depths of the eighteenth' thing, are you bringing a woman as your date? You and Luna Lovegood did seem to be getting on rather well…"

Susan barked a laugh that was nothing resembling "ladylike" or "proper", which Daphne deeply appreciated.

"Hah, no, Luna's just a friend of mine, for now at least," Susan shrugged, "the fact of the matter is that as much as I hate it, I have to keep up some level of plausible deniability right now, just in case. Wait, you do know why it is that I'm going after your dad, right?"

"Um," Daphne didn't, "other than the fact that he's a sanctimonious prick, I hadn't thought of that."

"Cyrus," Susan explained, "is up to something. He's started poking about in different aspects of marriage law, after the whole thing with Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour came public, the old guard is all a-twitter about ways that they can exploit that particular bit of public opinion to their own ends."

Susan leaned across, brushing her hand across Daphne's forearm.

"I don't blame you by association, obviously, but if you weren't already aware, your dad is just as competent as he is a complete and utter cunt. Whatever he's up to… it might carry certain requirements for unmarried nobles like myself. They can't compel people to marry, but they can make it a lot harder to access the powers granted to your house if you aren't."

Fuck, Harry has two bloody houses.

"So, what, you're planning on marrying some bloke if it comes down to it?" Daphne was surprised.

"Well, no, not some bloke," Susan chuckled, "but neither am I going to parade some young woman around just for my benefit. It's a complicated time for relationships, and there might be a lot on the line. I need to be careful about who I wind up tied to, and so do you."

Hmm, Daphne pondered, I don't think you could pick someone more advantageous than Harry.

She hadn't pursued Harry due to any aspect of his political status, wealth, or fame, but neither was Daphne naïve enough to forget that he did carry these statuses through his life… and if she were honest with herself, the way that he had dismantled her father by casually flexing political and magical power was perhaps the tipping point that led to her deciding to pursue him more seriously.

"Oh?" Daphne asked, "and who are you thinking of 'tying' yourself to?"

Susan just leaned back, smirking deviously.

"Think you'll figure that out pretty quick, Daphne!"

Yes, I think I'd like to be friends with Susan, Daphne realized. That sounds much more appealing than winding up as one of her enemies.

Daphne inspected herself in her mirror, turning to spin around, pleased with the way that her top dipped in the back to show skin, her skirt billowing and (conveniently) flowy and loose. Pansy was coming back today, and she had sent a message in the shared conversation with Daphne and Harry that she wanted to meet up and talk.

Satisfied with her appearance, Daphne retrieved some floo powder, speaking "12 Grimmauld Place" into her fireplace as she threw it into the flames. After the brief, dizzying journey, she found herself in Harry's lounge. She heard voices coming from Harry's bedroom, and they didn't sound like happy ones.

Fuck.

Hurrying up the stairs, she started to catch bits and pieces of Harry and Pansy's apparent argument as she approached.

"...slept with someone?" Pansy cried; the beginning of the sentence too unclear for Daphne to have caught.

"Well, what does it matter?" Harry wasn't raising his voice, but his frustration was clear, "it's not like you're my girlfriend or anything!"

Daphne rounded the corner, entering the doorway at the same time as Pansy yelled "well, I could be!"

Oh.

There was a moment of silence as Harry stared at her with eyes wide, Pansy whirling around to face her, tears evident in her own eyes.

"I… I should go," Daphne muttered, turning around to leave.

Pansy

Fucking hell, Parkinson, do you have the magic power to say the wrong thing at the wrong time?

As Daphne's hurt flashed across her face, Pansy had already made up her mind, surging into action to close the distance between the two of them as Daphne turned away.

"No, don't," Pansy pleaded, latching her arms around Daphne's waist. Daphne didn't struggle, per se, but she felt distinctly uncomfortable in Pansy's grasp.

"This isn't some conspiracy, some kind of secret behind your back, I'm just… I fucked up. This isn't how I planned the conversation to go," Pansy confessed.

"It's fine, Pansy," Daphne spoke stiffly, "I don't want to get in the way."

"Don't be as much of an idiot as I am right now," Pansy chided her, "obviously I want you included in this too. My mouth got ahead of my brain, okay?"

"Hmph," Daphne's response wasn't exactly encouraging, but she did at least relax somewhat.

"Sit down, give me a minute, I'm going to go grab a drink," Pansy commanded, turning over her shoulder to glance at Harry, who merely shrugged.

Hustling down to Harry's kitchen, Pansy once more cursed her impulsivity – she'd gotten wrapped up in her ideas of how this conversation was supposed to go, had been thrown off when she'd alluded to the events that had taken place in France and Harry didn't immediately get jealous, and had been in the middle of a particularly Pansy moment when Daphne had shown up.

She hoped that she hadn't spoiled the possibility of things between the three of them, but as she took a shot of whiskey in Harry's lounge (before pouring three glasses), Pansy also cursed herself for immediately leaping to the worst possible conclusion.

The three of them were all screwed up in their own ways, she knew: as evidenced by right now, she was impulsive and didn't think things through before saying them, Harry was too unflappable and unbothered by the things that she expected should bother him in a way that suggested his calm demeanour was a way of pushing things aside, and Daphne was afraid of stumbling into a situation that saw her manipulated or used in some way.

Which, of course, is exactly what it must have looked like when she stumbled in to my poorly-handled confession of "let's date", fuck.

As Pansy returned to Harry's bedroom, she found Daphne seated in a chair against one wall, her arms crossed uncertainly across her body, and Harry himself sprawled on the edge of his bed, a lit cigarette in his mouth, his handy little air-freshening charm active in the air above him.

"Drink," Pansy commanded, pushing glasses into each of Daphne and Harry's hands, lighting a cigarette herself. The moment of respite, of silence, helped her to recentre her thoughts.

"Okay, so, I've absolutely made pants of how I wanted this to go," Pansy finally started talking again, "but despite how… impulsive it came out, I was actually serious about what I said." Gesturing around the room, more out of wanting to do something with her hands other than fidget than any other reason, Pansy continued, "I've had some time to think about it, and, well, I'm going to keep being selfish, but I think this is in a way that the two of you will approve of. I'm not going to run away or try and convince myself otherwise any more, I actually fucking like the two of you, and I want to try doing this for real, if you're both still interested."

The words spilling from her lips at a torrential pace had silenced the other two in the room momentarily, until Harry made a humming sound and finally started speaking himself.

"Well, uh," He took a drink, apparently unprepared to actually say what he meant, "I'm… surprised. I guess I shouldn't be, but it's a pretty abrupt turn-around from where we were a couple weeks ago. Don't get me wrong, I'm not against the idea, but I want to know where it's coming from, first."

Pansy sighed, before beginning her explanation: "Well, that's what I was trying to get at before I threw a fit, really. When I was on vacation, there was someone who tried to hit on me, I think, and I realized in that moment that I'd rather be with you two than anyone else." Fuck, why was that so hard to say? "I get it, I'm not good at explaining myself, but, well… that's the best I can do."

"How romantic," Daphne spoke, her first words in a while, and something got all soft and warm in Pansy's chest when she saw the smirk on the blonde's face, "but, yeah, for my part, I'd rather be with the two of you than anyone else, as well."

Pansy crossed the room to flump onto the bed beside Harry: still far enough away from him that she wasn't in his personal space, but it felt better than standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"I mean, yeah," Harry scratched at the back of his head, holding his glass and cigarette in his other hand with a practiced ease that Pansy found she appreciated, "it's not like I'm turning down offers left and right like the two of you would have to, but, uh, I had someone hit on me recently too, and yeah, I was thinking about you two when I realized I had to put a stop to it."

The most desirable single man in all of Magical Britain doesn't have offers "left and right", Pansy thought, smiling at Harry's sheer stubbornness at accepting how bloody attractive he was.

"So," Daphne spoke, uncrossing her arms, swirling her drink in her hands, "is this happening? Are we doing this, for real?"

"Hrm," Harry grumbled, "look, yes, yes, I want to, but we have to lay down some expectations first. We've been lucky, so far, with how we've just sort of navigated by the seat of our pants, but if we're doing this for real… we have to do it for real, not just assume that things will work out because it's official. I've made that mistake before."

Look at you, Harry, you're learning, Pansy's snort wasn't as quiet as she'd hoped, and she just grinned bashfully at Harry when he looked at her with one raised eyebrow.

"Right, yeah," Daphne stood up, crossing the room to lay across the end of Harry's bed, the three of them arranged haphazardly, "that's a good idea. We've got a lot to consider, honestly."

"Like?" Pansy was at a bit of a loss, sure, they'd have to navigate some particular aspects of what form of monogamy (heh, duogamy?) their relationship took, but she didn't see that as a pressing concern.

"Well, er," Harry muttered in frustration, "look, you know how I'm the Lord of two Houses, yeah? That could be a problem in the future. I'm going to have to produce heirs and all that, and I'm not exactly saying that I expect to do so any time soon, but if that's not on the table then I need to know. Even putting all that bullshite aside, I do want a family one day, yeah?"

Pansy glanced at Daphne, a bit nervous: she knew that this topic was a sensitive one for Daphne in particular, though at the same time she was struck with the ridiculous thought of a little girl with Daphne's blue eyes and Harry's black hair.

If Harry and I have kids, she thought, they're just going to look like little clones of the two of us. Lucky buggers.

"I do too," Daphne finally answered, "you know my history, but… I'm not worried about that with you, Harry. I know you'd let me be part of that decision, and that's important."

"Not any time soon, yeah?" Pansy added, "but, well, if you want to knock me up some day, Potter, I suppose I'd allow it."

Harry chuckled, setting his glass down on his bedside dresser, flopping on his back so that all three of them were laid out on his bed.

"There's political angles, too," Daphne spoke sadly, "I don't know if you're aware, Harry, but apparently my father is up to something with marriage laws. This whole thing might wind up even more serious than we'd anticipated, if he pulls some bullshite at the Wizengamot."

"Yeah, I'd heard," Harry shrugged, "if push comes to shove, I can put a stop to anything particularly troublesome there. Not planning to, it'd cause more complications really, but don't worry about being forced to marry me."

"I'm Harry Potter and I can stop laws that I don't like from passing", Pansy thought, it's like he doesn't even realize how hot he's being right now.

"So, what is there to worry about?" Pansy asked, "we all like each other, we all want to do this, and if it gets that far it sounds like it would even work long-term, yeah?"

"Well," Harry rolled to his side, facing the two witches on his bed, "that's one of my conditions. Yeah, we all like each other, but I'm going to make the decision right now: if we're doing this thing, it has to be all three of us doing it. I don't want it to turn into some problem where two of us wind up splitting off from the third, yeah?"

"Hmm," Daphne sighed, "yeah, that's a good idea. I'm optimistic, Harry, Pansy, but as you could tell, I don't like the idea of the two of you conspiring behind my back. I know that I'm being paranoid, but it would help if I know that it's either the three of us together, or none of us together."

"Yeah, alright," Pansy agreed, "that's still not a problem for me. Anything else you're worried about, Daph?"

"I'm not ready to go public quite yet," Daphne shrugged, "I don't mind if a few people know, our friends and so on, but, well, I don't want to be in Witch Weekly more than I have to."

"Hah," Harry chuckled, "agreed. Obviously, I talked to Hermione about us, but I've kept it pretty quiet otherwise."

"I've talked to Blaise," Pansy admitted, "I needed to ask him for some advice. That's my biggest condition, I suppose… I don't think that we should be fully, completely exclusive to each other."

Harry

Hmm, Harry thought, don't like that.

"How so?" He asked, confused at the direction Pansy had taken things. When she'd been the first one to officially say "let's be in a relationship", he was surprised that she'd now be backing away from that. Is she scared?

"So, don't go telling stories about this," Pansy drawled beside him, "but like I said, I've talked to Blaise. His boyfriend and him have an agreement, if they both want to sleep with someone, well, they don't see why they both shouldn't enjoy that just because they're official with each other."

Blaise has a boyfriend? Blaise fucking Zabini settled down?

"Uh," Daphne spoke, "I'm not sure. How would that work?"

"Who knows?" Pansy rolled over onto her stomach, reaching across Harry to put her glass down, "we can deal with it as it comes up, but, well, it just seems rational to me. All three of us like women, so if we all want to shag someone, why wouldn't we? We're already doing something unconventional."

"That seems unfair," Harry spoke, confused, "because, well, I'm not into blokes, so that sounds more like you're trying to appease me somehow, I don't need to see other women in addition to you two."

"Oh, Harry," Daphne giggled, as he looked at her with the slightest degree of bewilderment, "you might very well be the only straight man on this planet who could have two women agreeing to date you, offering to let you have sex with more women on top of that, and be concerned about it not being fair to us."

"Daph's right," Pansy chuckled, "you're fucking ridiculous, Harry. Sure, maybe it's not really the fairest thing on paper, but frankly, I have absolutely shite taste in men, present company excluded," she stuck her tongue out at Harry, silencing his protest before it could begin, "but excellent taste in women. If we all agree, what's the harm?"

"I am still a bit concerned," Daphne spoke, as she in turn rolled on to her back, sliding beside Pansy, "I don't want the two of you out chasing other women, and I'm not planning to myself, but, well, I think Pansy's right. If we're all in favour, what's the harm? There aren't too many men that interest me, so it's no real problem for me to give up other blokes."

"It just seems," Harry licked his lips, completely unsure how to process this development, "I dunno, it seems like you're doing too much for me? I'm already lucky enough that the two of you are interested in me for some reason, I don't need to push that into trying to find more girlfriends, yeah?"

"It doesn't have to be more girlfriends, you dolt," Pansy's taunt was lacking any real venom behind it, "we all like women, so if we find someone that all three of us want to fuck, we can have a four-way, or something, yeah?"

A four-way? How does that even work? Harry thought, before his memory brought up Luna's recent words to him, her promise to "speak with his girlfriends", and the images that filled his mind quickly distracted him from most of his protests.

"It sounds like you're trying to build me a harem, or something," Harry chuckled, pushing the thoughts of two blondes, one brunette, and himself out of his mind, "I still think it's doing too much for me."

"That's because you're an idiot," Pansy gently smacked his arm, "thinking that it would be building a harem for you, how preposterous. Clearly, I've just acquired the first two members of my harem, and you should both count yourselves lucky that I like you enough to make you the favourites."

"Oh, hush," Daphne giggled, in turn slapping Pansy's arse lightly, "I don't think we should push for that any time soon, but if that's your condition, Pans, I'm on board."

Harry's mind went in a much less pleasurable direction, thinking of the recent events in the Wizengamot, of his surprising use of Sectumsempra by instinct… well, I can tell them about that detail later, he decided, it's still not official, anyways, and hopefully I'll never have reason to claim my other Houses.

"Fine," Harry grumbled, "I still think you're being ridiculous, but if it makes you happy, then I suppose we can leave that door open for now."

A couple of moments passed, as the three of them each – presumably – ran through their own internal worries, hopes, and reasons to be excited.

"So," Harry broke the silence, "we're doing this, then? Dating for real?"

"Absolutely," Daphne answered, as Pansy added "definitely" shortly after.

"What are we changing?" Harry tried to suppress his inner doubts, "I mean, this feels right, but are we doing things differently? You'll have to help me out here," he admitted, "because I might be absolutely pants at relationships."

"All of us are, I figure," Pansy drawled, "but this doesn't have to change a lot. Apparently, we're all out there turning down other people already, so we can do the exclusive thing until any particularly appealing opportunities arrive to change that."

"I guess we can see each other more often?" Daphne ventured, "I don't want to sound needy or anything, but I'd rather not go weeks without seeing the two of you."

"Hmm," Harry pondered, "that's another question, I suppose: if all three of us are dating, what do we do when one of us is busy?"

The two witches looked at him as if he were the dumbest man alive, and he guessed that he might very well be, to be expressing all these doubts and concerns when two absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous, incredible women wanted to date him.

"Harry, you have my absolute, enthusiastic approval to spend time with Daphne without me there," Pansy reassured him.

"Same for me," Daphne said, reaching across Pansy – their girlfriend, Merlin – to pat Harry's shoulder, "I'm not worried about that in the slightest, you and Pans can hang out even if I'm busy."

"Alright," Harry continued, trying (and failing) to find anything else to worry himself over, "and, yeah, you two can see each other without me there. I just want to hear about it," he joked, waggling his eyebrows.

"Ugh," Pansy groaned, "Harry, shut up, come here, and kiss your girlfriends."

He did.